


Conjugal Visit

by Coragyps



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Omega!will, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1264600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coragyps/pseuds/Coragyps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Will goes into heat in prison, Hannibal shows up claiming conjugal visitation rights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt at the [Hannibal Kink meme](http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/3819.html?thread=6449899).

The guards aren’t great about bringing Will his suppressants. 

Will has always been conscientious about taking them every day, at the exact same time (8:05 AM), as prescribed by his original andrologist.

But some days the pills come late, and some days they don’t come at all.

Will knows he’s the only omega in the facility. It’s extremely rare for an omega to commit violent crimes; they aren’t usually aggressive, even under traumatic situations.

Of course it's a well known stereotype that unmated omegas get increasingly neurotic as they age (mated omegas, of course, maintain their mental health and wellbeing with the benefit of their Bond).  But they usually turn that inward, becoming depressed or self-destructive.  
   
Will is going to be famous.

Will asks politely about his pills.  The guards ignore him.

The next day, Will wakes up feeling nauseous and dizzy.  The smell of the breakfast tray makes him sick.

He backs himself into the corner of his cell, feeling himself pant, trying to calm down. He hasn’t had a heat since his first one, when he disgraced his father forever by presenting as an omega.  He’s from a family of all solid Betas, seven generations back.  He’s been on the suppressants ever since.

“Aw, fuck,” says the guard, when he comes to take the untouched tray away.  He can smell it, Will realizes – the sweet slick oozing slowly from his asshole. 

Someone triggers an alarm, and more guards come. Will is wrestled to the ground and pinned. Being touched by anyone, even these Betas, is agonizing. He fights being muzzled for once, but he’s held down by his hair while they get it strapped in place. His legs are shackled. He’s whimpering senselessly as he’s dragged to the medical wing.

“It’s too late for the drugs to kick in now,” the doctor concludes, after a truly humiliating medical exam. Will is actually grateful that the hormones are clouding his thinking.

He figures he’ll be locked up and left to deal with it himself. He hopes they at least bring him some supplies – sanitary pads and penetrative toys. Surely it would be considered cruel and unusual to let him make a mess of himself without relief?

But to his surprise, he isn’t taken back to his cell. The doctor pulls his elastic-waist pants back up and guides him up off the examination table he’s bent over. He’s urged to climb up on top of it, and buckled down with thick cotton straps.

Will is too tired to fight. The restraints feel like security. He tugs at them a little, just to feel how they won’t give.

He knows some omegas like to be restrained during their heat; he never thought it applied to him before. But even the muzzle feels good now, tight around his lower face. Will feels … locked down, squared away. It feels good.

The doctor shines a penlight in his eyes. “He’s pretty far gone,” he observes. “Sometimes long exposure to suppressants has this effect.”

There’s a thermometer in his ear. Will doesn’t like it. It doesn’t matter what Will wants. His temperature is taken.

“Approximately normal,” says the doctor.  “Not long now. Is his Alpha on the premises already?”

“Yes, doctor,” says the nurse.

There’s something wrong with that, Will thinks.  Something not quite right.  But he’s enjoying how tightly wrapped up he is, and it’s hard to concentrate.

The doctor pats his cheek above the muzzle.  “You’re going to be feeling a lot better soon,” he says. His voice isn’t unkind, and Will blinks.  It’s probably the kindest anyone has been to him since he arrived here.

The door opens.  “Doctor,” says the doctor.  
   
“Doctor,” says somebody else. Will feels an intense wave of heat run over him.  He groans, fighting the restraints and enjoying the fact that he can’t pull against them.  This is what he wants.  It doesn’t matter what he wants.

“I’m glad you were able to obtain permission for a conjugal visit,” says the doctor.  “This would have been very hard for him, with as long as he’s been on the suppressants.”

“I admit, I was relieved myself,” says a voice.  Such a familiar voice.

Someone taps his cheekbones.  “William.”  A thumb rubs over his cheek, and Will finds that he can still move his head to turn into the touch.  “William, open your eyes and look at me, please.”

Will wants to obey.  That’s his job.  His ass is so wet, it’s dripping down his thighs.  It hurts.  It’s too empty.

He opens his eyes and looks into Hannibal’s placid face.

Conjugal visit, thinks Will.  That’s only for Bonded pairs, because it's dangerous to separate them.  Hannibal is an Alpha, but not _his_ Alpha.  Right?  
   
“I would have called you sooner, but I didn’t realize Mr. Graham was Bonded,” says the doctor.

“I was not aware of it myself, until Doctor Chilton contacted me with his theory that William might have Bonded unconsciously.  It … may explain a good deal of his behavior.”

Hannibal is not his Alpha. Hannibal is lying.  Will can’t remember why he should care.

“I’m going to take this off, Will,” says Hannibal kindly.  One of his strong hands slides under Will’s head, lifts it up off the bench.  Will lets the whole weight of his skull rest in Hannibal’s palm.  
   
Hannibal’s competent fingers unbuckle the back of the muzzle.  He’s gentle as he lifts it away from Will’s face and wipes Will’s chin, which is damp with condensation and possibly drool. His hand is still supporting Will’s head.

Will purses his lips together, vaguely trying to communicate what he wants; he needs pressure, contact. His lips are tingling, although not as much as his backside, which has begun to pulse and clench with want.

“That’s my good boy,” says Hannibal.  Calm, his voice is so implacable and calm, like cool, soothing water compared to Will’s feverish heat.

Hannibal rubs his thumb over Will’s wet mouth, and Will opens readily to suck it inside.  He moans softly in pleasure. Filled, he wants to be filled up; his mouth, his ass, his head. He tries to lift his hips, offer them to Hannibal, but is prevented by the straps.

Somewhere under his elegant suits, Hannibal has a knot that would fill Will up so nicely.

“I need to get you out of these restraints,” says Hannibal, sliding his thumb further into Will’s mouth, almost threatening the back of his throat. Will has a vague sense of Hannibal sliding something so deeply into his throat that he’d choked.

He wants that now.

Hannibal begins to loosen the straps.  Will whines.  He doesn’t want to be free.  Free is unsafe. Being unable to move, unable to do anything but accept; that's safe.

“It’s alright, Will.  Sh sh sh,” Hannibal soothes.  “I need to move you so we can deal with your heat. Can you be good for me?”  
   
Will can be good. Will can be so good, if only Hannibal would let him.

Hannibal gets him sitting up, unbinding Will layer after layer. He lifts his shirt off over his head. Now Will is panting in the chill air of the medical suite. Hannibal wipes his sweaty skin with the shirt, lifting Will’s arms like a child, blotting his arm pits. Will sags forward, into Hannibal’s chest.  He’s shivering.

“Pants, William,” says Hannibal, tapping Will’s thigh, prompting him to stand. His legs barely support him when he slides off the exam table. Hannibal kneels down, still fully dressed, to guide Will’s pants down his legs and off his feet. 

Will is naked except for his (laceless) canvas shoes, which Hannibal has left on for some reason.  His feet look even more vulnerable with no socks.  
   
Hannibal’s hands skim over his legs, his chest, inspecting him casually.  “They’re not feeding you properly,” he notes.  “I’ll have to fatten you up when we get home.”

“Feed me?” says Will, slurring the words.  “Home?” He looks into Hannibal’s face, questioning. Trusting.  
   
“You’re going to plead insanity, Will,” Hannibal explains, guiding Will to sit back on the examination table. “As an older omega with an unconscious Bond, you were not responsible for your actions. You concocted this scheme to get my attention. That’s why you’re so fixated with me, even now.”

Will nuzzles his face into Hannibal’s neck.  Hannibal smells amazing, feels amazing. He’s aware of Hannibal’s hands between his knees, spreading his thighs, stepping between them. 

“Of course I’ll be petitioning the court for your guardianship. You’re my Bonded omega, after all. They won’t deny me the right to keep you under house arrest in my home. I am an eminent omega psychologist.” Hannibal presses him down by his shoulders, lifts his knees up, opening him.

 _Alpha_.

“You’re going to be so happy, sweet William, when you’re entirely mine.”

Will wonders vaguely if it's true that they're already bonded. It won’t matter in another minute; when Hannibal knots inside him, they will be.

“Relax for me, my good boy. I’m going to check between your buttocks, see if you’re ready for me.  I don’t want to hurt you for our first time.”

Anything Hannibal can do for Will’s aching, twitching hole will be a relief. Will presses eagerly into the touch of his cool fingers, holding him spread with one hand while the other probes at his tender place.

“You’re very slick,” Hannibal murmurs, sliding in one finger.  Will gasps, throws his head back at the pleasure.

“Have you ever been taken this way, William?” Hannibal begins to gently fuck the finger in and out of Will’s wet, sloppy hole. “Hmm?”

Will shakes his head no.  He’d lived like a Beta until now, only having sex with Beta women, never letting an Alpha touch him. He can’t remember why, now.

“Lovely,” says Hannibal, pressing in another finger. “You’re going to be so tight and warm around me. You’ll take my knot so sweetly, won’t you William?  You’ll beg me for it?”

“Yes,” says Will, pushing back against the fingers. “Anything.”

“Put your hands above your head, William.  Hold them there for me.” Will does. It stretches his naked body out, reveals all of him to Hannibal’s gaze. “I like you like this, William. Is your mind nice and quiet for once?”

Will nods.

“Do you need me to tie you down? Would you like that? If you tell me, I’ll do it for you.”

“Please,” says Will. “Please, yes.”  
   
“Here we go.  These are strong, heavy straps. They’ll hold you nice and still while you're fucked, no matter how hard I choose to go.”

“Hard,” murmurs Will, tugging on his newly-restrained arms.

Hannibal kisses him, tongue aggressively shoved into Will’s soft, helpless mouth. His fingers are still buried inside of Will. It’s over too quickly, Hannibal pulling away.  
   
“Spread nicely for me now.”

Will does, as much as he’s able. He lifts his legs to either side of Hannibal’s trouser-covered hips. Hannibal opens the front of his pants but doesn’t get undressed any further.

He wants to see Hannibal’s cock – wants to suck Hannibal’s cock, wants him to knot in his mouth – but Hannibal doesn’t let him look. He just shoulders his way in, the head of his cock spearing so nicely up behind Will’s balls, into the hungry, soaking center of him.

Will drops his head back and lets himself be _taken_ , barely making an effort to participate as Hannibal shoves his way in. It still hurts a little, even with Will so wet and loose, but Will likes the pain. It’s going to _kill him_ when Hannibal knots. He’s going to be torn apart, and he glories in it.

“That’s right, William. Just let this happen,” says Hannibal. “This is your true purpose, isn’t it? It's not your job to find killers anymore. Just to do what I say."

Will nods sleepily in agreement. If he lifts his head he can look down and see his naked legs, spread wide and vulnerable, faintly ridiculous. Hannibal has his hands under Will’s knees, holding him open, pulling Will back onto him with each thrust.  Will can feel his buttocks jiggling, feel Hannibal’s heavy balls slapping against him.

“I’m going to put my knot in you now, Will,” says Hannibal, dropping one of Will’s legs but shoving forward so it's forced up over his shoulder. “Can you feel it?  Hmm?”

Will can feel it, now that Hannibal has said something.  Something rubbing at the stretched rim of him, nudging against him on each stroke.

“It might hurt a little, but I know you can take it,” Hannibal continues. “Be good for me and take it.” He increases the strength and speed of his strokes, and Will groans faintly, feeling himself stretch impossibly further. Hannibal slams into him hard, and Will hisses, and something pops in, and Hannibal stops moving, just pressing in deep without withdrawing.  Will can feel it expanding inside of him, pressing against his sensitive walls, demanding more room. It does hurt, and Will doesn’t realize he’s moaning until Hannibal’s hand drops over his mouth, forcing him silent.  And still Will sobs and slobbers into his palm.

Oh God, he’s literally going to split. Hannibal is huge inside of him now, bigger than a fist, and still expanding, still rocking deeper with those shallow thrusts.  Will groans and hisses and stretches further.

He feels it when Hannibal comes.  It’s like a firehose in his ass, spraying his insides. Will thinks he tastes it in the back of his throat. He’s nothing but a sloppy mess down there, his own slick and Hannibal’s come, and Hannibal locks them together, plugging Will up with all that inside him.

“Good boy,” says Hannibal, stroking back Will’s sweaty hair, his other hand still pressed firmly over Will’s mouth. "That’s my good, good boy, William. So good for me. See how hard you’ve made me come? That's what you needed, isn't it."

Will grunts in agreement. He doesn’t want Hannibal to take his hand away, and Hannibal doesn’t. He doesn’t make any move to release Will’s arms, either, even though they ache with the stretch of being tied above his head, and his back hurts from being folded up under Hannibal.

“When we do this at my house, William, I’m going to tie you naked to our bed,” says Hannibal meditatively. “You’ll be on your belly, barely able to move, and you'll fall asleep like this, with me locked inside you. And you’re going to wake up in the night to find yourself already knotted again. Will you like that?”

Will nods.  Hannibal shifts a little, testing the tie. It’s already going down a little, but he doesn’t pull out.

“Are you feeling better?” Hannibal asks.

Will nods behind his hand. He doesn’t feel quite as craven, quite as desperate. He remembers why he should be afraid of Hannibal now. Hannibal is the one who put him here. Hannibal is a killer.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. They’re bonded, and whatever Hannibal is, he’s Will’s, forever.

“We’re going to have such a beautiful life,” says Hannibal, kissing his cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

“Doctor Chilton says you’re not eating, William,” Hannibal says.

He’s got Will kneeling on a cushion with his head in Hannibal’s lap: ‘the grounding position,’ he calls it.

Just Will’s luck, to be Bonded to an expert in omega behavior and conditioning.

Hannibal presses two fingers to Will’s neck. “Your respiratory rate is still high,” he says. “Can you take slow, deep breaths for me? From your belly, please.”

His elegant fingers stroke through Will’s hair, brushing it back from his face. It’s grooming behavior, Will knows, typical of newly-Bonded pairs; he spent the first twenty minutes absentmindedly smoothing Will’s wild eyebrows with his thumb.

Will tries to shift, his chains clinking, but Hannibal’s hand drops lightly – warningly – to the back of his neck.

“Just let the position do its work. Slide your knees a little further apart, and relax your backside – no no, don’t clench, just let your buttocks fall naturally open.” Hannibal’s hand slides down to expertly massage the muscles of Will’s butt. “That’s it. Deep breaths. Try to relax.”

Will glances despairing at the camera in the corner of the visitation room. Its red light is aimed at him attentively.

He knows their first Bonding was recorded by the security cameras of the medical wing. One of the guards showed him a boot-leg copy on his phone; they were all standing outside his cell, snickering and laughing.

In it, Will is naked, his small omega dick and balls both clearly visible. His hands are tied above his head (Will could see the red imprints of the straps for hours afterwards). His mouth is open, head thrown back. Hannibal, face averted, is between his legs. Will doesn’t remember his feet kicking out like that, helplessly, as the knot was pressed into him.

He barely recognized the man in the video as himself. He looks vulnerable, defenseless. He looks – like an omega.

“William. I asked you to do something for me.”

That video is probably on the internet by now.

Jack has probably seen it.

Alana has probably seen it.

Will wants to shake off Hannibal’s hands, but it’s been physically painful for him to have been separated from his Bonded for the past two weeks. Conjugal visits are typically allowed only when one member of the pair is in Season, and Will’s next heat is more than a month away. Flush with the hormones of the recent Bond, it's hard not to feel a little drunk on Hannibal’s attention.

He moves as directed.

“Now, William. Tell me why you’ve been refusing food. We’re all very worried about you; I arranged this visit at the hospital's special request.”

Truthfully, Will has been too busy plotting his escape to worry about his personal health. He shakes his head, buried in Hannibal’s lap. It doesn’t dislodge Hannibal’s hand in his hair.

“William. Answer out loud, please.”

“I’m fine,” Will mumbles.

“Not eating is hardly ‘fine.’ Are you still having nightmares? Have you experienced any hallucinations?”

Will responds aloud, as requested: “No.” Bonding actually seems to have cured some of his neuroses. It’s just unfortunate that his Bonded had to be such a sociopath.

Hannibal hums. “How are you sleeping – have you been cold at night?”

Will _has_ been cold. Omegas get chilled easily, especially when their hormones are high.

“I shall request extra blankets be brought to your cell,” says Hannibal, seeming to read his mind. “Promise me you will use them.” He stops petting Will’s hair.

Will nods into Hannibal’s thigh. He can smell the musk of Hannibal’s cock.

“Good boy,” says Hannibal, resuming the soothing touch. Will doesn’t doubt that there will be a folded stack of blankets on his bed when he gets back to his cell tonight.

“Is there something you need from home, perhaps? I could bring it for you,” Hannibal tempts. “Anything you want, name it and it’s yours. I find I enjoy spoiling you, William.”

This is true: almost every day Hannibal sends him something in the mail – a book, a new pair of glasses, a new pack of underwear. An old-fashioned sanitary napkin belt for Will to manage his wetness.

“I don’t need anything,” Will says.

“Are you still distressed by the volume of lubrication you’re producing, or has that resolved?”

Will wants to lie. But Hannibal’s a doctor as well as a killer, and Will doesn’t know what’s normal for an omega; he’s never had to be one before.

“I’m – I’m still wet all the time,” he admits. “It feels ... dirty.”

“It’s not dirty,” Hannibal corrects. “It’s natural and healthy, and it’s to be expected as your body adjusts. In time, you will not experience excessive emissions outside of your heat.”

Will grunts.

“They sell cotton plugs that can be inserted comfortably into the rectum,” Hannibal suggests.

“Tampons,” says Will, muffled in his lap. “Call them what they are.”

Hannibal shushes him, hands gentle. “I’ll send you some. And the mild penetration may have a salutatory effect on the transitional symptoms, as well. Which reminds me – are you using your fingers for regular stimulation, as I advised?”

Will hides his face, breathing in his Alpha's reassuring scent.

“William, this is very serious. I know it’s embarrassing, but you’ll reduce the fluctuations of your hormones if you experience climax a few times every day, and at the moment I can’t be available to provide you with that level of attention.”

“Stop,” says Will, wishing Hannibal would at least let him up off his knees.

“I could try to find something that would help you, if you'd like,” Hannibal continues blithely. “There are toys produced for that very purpose, from what I understand. Perhaps I could do further research on the topic?”

“Why are you _doing this?_ ”

Hannibal’s narrow lips draw down. “We are discussing the stress-related factors that are possibly impacting your appetite,” he says. “Body dysphoria may be one of them.”

“You’re enjoying it," Will accuses. "Just admit it!”

“Stay on your knees, William,” says Hannibal calmly. “Settle down. Just breathe.”

“You’re not fooling me, you know – I know what you’re up to!”

“Sh sh sh. Breathe for me, William.” Hannibal slips a hand down over his eyes, holding them closed as Will twists. “Listen to me, listen to my voice. Take a breath. That’s it, nice deep breath in, and let it out. Just like that, that’s right. Good.”

Blinded, Will finds he can’t hold on to his anger; he’s like a hooded falcon. He lets his head drop, too exhausted to resist, as Hannibal’s cool fingers stroke over his face. For a moment there is no sound except the distant buzz of a security door.

Hannibal slowly uncovers his eyes, and Will turns his face up without lifting his head out of his Bonded’s lap.

Hannibal is the only Alpha he’s ever met whose eyes retain some red coloring outside of Rut.

“Now. What was all that about?”

“I just don’t understand,” says Will tiredly. “Are you just waiting to kill me? Or is this all an elaborate plan to humiliate me - because congratulations, it worked ... your move again.”

“Nobody’s trying to humiliate you, William,” says Hannibal, tenderly brushing back his hair again. “And I’d never hurt you.”

“You’re the Ripper,” says Will dully.

“I’m your Alpha,” Hannibal counters, not even bothering to deny the accusation. “You belong to me now, and I can assure you, I take excellent care of my possessions.”

“But _why?_   You could have any omega you wanted. Why trick Chilton into Bonding me to you?”

“Because it’s in my nature to appreciate the finer things in life, William. I've encountered many omegas, but none have interested me. Your gifts, your intellect, your stubbornness … I wanted to own you. And now I do.”

Will lets his face slide into the dip between Hannibal’s thighs, where it’s dark and quiet, and he doesn’t have to think. He knows he needs to resist Hannibal’s manipulations, but he’s only an animal, and the soft, weak underbelly of him wants to hear these words. _I see you and recognize what you are, and I claim you._ The sentiment goes straight to his asshole, which clenches and dribbles.

“Tell me what’s wrong, William. Tell me, and I promise you, I will fix it.”

Will closes his eyes.

In his more lucid moments, he suspects that Hannibal could get him released at any time. He’s dragging it out because he's waiting for the confinement to wreck Will’s resolve.

“William.”

He isn’t even sure of his current legal status . He knows his trial was indefinitely deferred. Nobody has consulted him; why would they? He’s just an omega – which is exactly what’s going to save him. They were discussing the death penalty, he knows, but a Bonded omega isn’t a citizen. They are only the property of their Alpha.

“I just want to go home," Will whispers.

“My poor, sweet boy,” Hannibal soothes, rubbing his back. “I know you do. You’ve been separated from me too long … and I’ve missed you too, my Will, very much. But you must eat, dear heart. I’ll send you something delicate, for your stomach ... something homemade.”

Will buries his face in Hannibal’s lap, muffling a sob. He manages to shake his head, but the gesture is feeble.

“Now,” says Hannibal kindly. “While I am here, why don’t you let me make you more comfortable, hmm? Push your trousers down for me.”

“The guards ...” Will hesitates, glancing at the one-way glass.

"Don't worry about them." Hannibal's lips find his ear: _“I’ll snap their necks just for looking at you."_

He’s not even bothering to disguise what he is anymore; it would be pointless to attempt concealment from his Bonded, after all.

"Come on, William. Let me help you. It pains me to see you suffer."

Will can’t deny what he wants. He reaches back to expose the part of him that belongs to Hannibal; thanking God that it's just his treacherous omega ass, and not his head or his heart.

Inelegantly, he hooks his fingers in the elastic hem of his prison-issue pants and shoves them under the round ball of his butt, pushing the boxers down too. Boxers that Hannibal gave him, of course. That he touched with his elegant hands, that smelled (Will knows; he buried his face in them when they were delivered), just faintly of his aftershave.

“How do you want it, William? Go ahead, any position you like. The show, as they say, is yours.”

Will shuffles forward on his knees, thighs bound by his cotton pants.

He could bend over the chair, like a man – or he could lie on his back with his legs in the air, like a woman. But he’s an omega.

He keeps his ass in the air, lowering himself until his chest touches the ground. He puts his hands behind his back, one hand clasping the other wrist. He presses his cheek against the dirty floor, panting slightly. Debasing himself.

“Good, William,” says Hannibal. “This is how you want it, isn’t it.”

Will nods. It brushes his wet lips against the concrete, but he doesn’t care. He can taste the dust.

“There’s nothing more beautiful to a psychologist than a man who’s fully integrated, William," says Hannibal softly. He slides his fingers between Will’s cheeks, stroking his hole, which of course is leaking slick. "That’s all I want for you, you must see that.”

 _I’m going to see you brought to justice,_ Will thinks, even as he spreads his legs and groans.

“You look incredible like this, dear one. So good, so perfect for me."

_Someday I’ll be free, and you’ll be the one behind bars._

"My beautiful boy."

 _But don’t worry, Dr. Lector,_ thinks Will, in the last second before he loses the ability to think.

_They'll allow conjugal visits._

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me a little longer than I anticipated to complete. But I'd never leave a work-in-progress unfinished!

Will has been running since the cold metal doors clanged behind him.

He may be free from prison – for the moment, at least – but nothing can release him from Hannibal's Bond.

His first stop: a pharmacy, to refill his suppressants. He took a mega-dose, three times the recommended amount, injected directly into the muscles of his thigh. Gladly suffering through the cramps and migraines in order to regain some semblance of control.

It worked. His body is closed up again, dry and tight like a fist.

Between the bus and a series of rides he managed to hitch, it took him two days to reach the cabin. It was his grandfather’s, once, nestled between lush fields of burley tobacco and forest that stretches as far as the eye can see. It’s a small space – all one room – but it’s a hundred miles from anyone, and that’s what matters to Will.

It took him five hours of wiring to get everything up and running.

Now he sits with his phone in his hand, watching the sun set over the trees.

He's achingly tired.

He feels his chin drooping towards his chest at about the same time that his mind turns the view of fiery red clouds to a slowly spreading bloodstain that covers the sky.

Half asleep, he doesn't hear the door open. Doesn't know anything until strong fingers close around his throat.

_“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?”_

The Hannibal standing in front of him isn't the cool, placid man in the patterned suits. Gone is the familiar half-smile, the faint grimace of amusement that barely lifts one corner of his lips.

This is an Alpha in Rut.

His eyes, always reddish, are now practically glowing crimson, and he watches Will like a cat watches a fluttering bird (that expression – gleeful, malevolent – is one reason Will is a dog person).

Will's fingers reflexively clench around his phone. It’s promptly plucked out of his hands and thrown across the room, where it shatters into pieces against the wall.

“Ah, ah, ah,” says Hannibal.

Will wets his lips. “Doctor Lecter - ”

He’s cut off by the hand that drags him out of the chair like he weighs nothing. He’s spun around and pressed against the wall, his face forced into the wood, made to bare his vulnerable neck.

Hannibal can hold him in place with one hand.

“You don’t need to do this,” Will says, closing his eyes. _Calm,_ he tells himself, _just stay calm._

Hannibal doesn't bother to answer, or maybe he's beyond words now. He twists Will’s wrists together and holds them at the small of his back, tightening his grip at the first hint of struggle. The hard line of his dick is unmistakable, rubbing up against Will’s thighs.

Cold fingers grip Will’s chin, turning it to the side; for a second he fully expects to have his neck snapped. Instead he shudders at the gust of warm air over his bare skin. He’s being scented.

Since even for an Alpha Hannibal has an unusually sensitive sense of smell outside of Rut, Will can’t imagine what he can detect now.

He forces himself to hold still while Hannibal sniffs at the back of Will's neck, under his hair. If Hannibal smells another Alpha’s claim, it’s likely he’d kill them both.

Instead he fixes his mouth to the back of Will’s neck and suckles.

Will yelps at the touch of teeth, but Hannibal doesn’t bite down hard. He growls, the rumble vibrating through Will’s skin. "Be still," he says, muffled in Will's neck. He licks the spot, layering saliva over saliva.

Will doesn't start to struggle until something twines around his wrists, binding them tightly behind his back. "Please," he manages to say.

Hannibal pulls him back around and bares his teeth. “Be a good bitch.”

Will realizes he’s trembling, and is irritated by it. He isn’t prey. Hannibal is just an Alpha like any other – aggressive, sure, but still _human._ It’s nothing but the pheromones in the air, affecting his omega lizard brain.

Hannibal nudges Will down to his knees; he goes without resisting. As long as he’s compliant, it’s unlikely the Alpha would hurt him badly, but any sign of defiance can get very ugly, very fast. Rut makes an Alpha both incredibly strong and very aggressive. Presumably it’s worse for an Alpha who already murders people recreationally.

Agile fingers dip into his waistband, opening the front of his pants. Will closes his eyes.

Usually the seasons of Bonded pairs synch up over time. A needy omega in heat is happy to absorb their mate’s excess aggression. But Will and Hannibal have been mostly separated since their Bonding; even if Will had stayed off his suppressants, there hasn’t been enough time.

Hannibal steps back, licking his lips. His face is savage with pleasure, but he's making an effort to compose himself. “Stay,” he growls, leaving Will with his dick hanging out of his underwear.

He walks to the table, where the dusty tool box is sitting open. Will realizes belatedly that it’s probably his own leftover co-axial cable knotted around his wrists.

Hannibal selects a pair rusted box cutter – Will shivers – and a fat roll of silver tape. Slowly, deliberately, he cuts off a strip and returns to Will, lifting his chin with a finger.

Will expects to have it pasted over his mouth, but instead Hannibal smooths the tape carefully over his eyes, holding Will’s head in place when he tries to jerk away. It’s loose enough that Will’s eyelashes can flutter vainly, but no light gets through.

Hannibal steps back and falls still, letting Will’s helplessness sink in. Now that he’s not swimming in omega hormones, having his eyes covered won’t make Will suddenly docile, but it’s deeply unnerving not being able to anticipate Hannibal’s next move. He knows he’s being observed, can _feel_ Hannibal’s bloody eyes on his face.

Then a hand burrows into Will’s hair, taking a firm grip of the curly knot at the back of his head and using it to steer him. He protests, wordless, trying to pull himself back.

Will hears the jingle of his zipper being drawn down, and the hand behind his neck pushes his face in a soft silky nest of pubic hair.

Will can’t push Hannibal away – not with his wrists bound behind him – and he can’t pull away himself since Hannibal is controlling his head. _Stay calm,_ he reminds himself, breathing shallowly and trying not to inhale the salty tang of Hannibal’s crotch.

Fingers comb through his curls, keeping him in place. He can feel the shape of balls under his lips. He whines, but Hannibal holds him there until he’s forced to take a breath.

“Don’t fight me, William. This is happening.”

Hannibal tugs him back and Will's chin is lifted, his cheeks pinched together between someone’s finger and thumb. He resists feebly as his jaw is pried open.

A finger slides over his dry tongue, probes in his mouth. “Don’t,” says Will, muffled around the obstruction. But two fingers are eased between his teeth, forcing them wider apart.

Something wet and warm nudges against his tongue.

Will has never sucked a cock in his life, although he went down on a beta woman once, in college. He was drunk and doesn’t remember much beyond the faint empathetic echoes of her pleasure, which he could almost feel between his own legs as she ground against his mouth. He remembers the slickness getting everywhere – over his cheeks, the bridge of his nose – and the claustrophobic clench of her thighs around his head as he struggled to get her off.

It’s not an episode he’s been eager to repeat.

Hannibal relieves him of the burden of inexperience by asking Will for nothing – just forcing him to swallow as much as he can take. He can’t bite down with Hannibal’s fingers wedged between his teeth. He’s totally helpless, Will realizes. Bound and blindfolded, and now silenced by the cock in his mouth, sliding towards the back of his throat.

Hannibal sighs in pleasure, pulling Will up by the hair so he can feed more in. There’s nothing Will can do but swallow and try to breathe around the meat of it, feeling the drool slide down his chin. He moans, mindlessly, eyes watering behind the tape.

“This is where you belong, isn’t it,” Hannibal hums. He begins to work in and out, light, quick thrusts, pulling Will in and then pushing him away. Will struggles, trying to groan around his mouthful, but Hannibal pulls him down with a growl, forcing him to take more. Every once in a while Hannibal’s cock hits the back of his throat and chokes him, and Will jerks helplessly with the strokes.

He's grunting, he realizes, ugly animal sounds. He wants to cough and can’t – wants to protest and can’t – he just keeps mouth open as wide as he can as Hannibal moves faster, balls thumping against Will’s chin.

_Calm, stay calm._

“So beautiful,” Hannibal croons. Thankfully he pulls out just as the fleshy knot starts to swell against Will’s teeth, although he keeps his fingers lodged where they are. Based on the slapping sound of skin working skin, he’s most likely squeezing the bulge at the base of his dick with his other hand.

Finally he comes, flooding Will’s held-open mouth with sticky, slimy cum. Will tries to swallow it all and can’t – it’s too much – he coughs and sputters and feels it splatter out from between his lips. His jaw is aching, mouth stretched and dry from the strain. Hannibal draws back and lets the rest of it spatter over Will’s face and neck.

There's silence except for both of them panting.

“I hope that was everything you wanted,” Will grinds out when he can, his voice wrecked.

He doesn't kid himself that they're done; Rutting Alphas get hard again almost immediately, and they can go for days.

Hannibal doesn’t answer, turning Will’s head up in his hands and to lick the semen from his face. He seems to enjoy the taste of it, humming appreciatively as he cleans it from the corner of Will’s mouth.

A hand gropes unexpectedly around Will’s dick, which he’s ashamed to realize is half-hard and responsive to the attention. He hadn’t noticed until now, or hadn’t wanted to think about it.

Not much attention is paid to the penis of a male omega in heat; they don’t ejaculate, and most experience a more intense pleasure from anal stimulation. An omegan orgasm isn’t a priority in general, since they tend to be empathetic (a trait Will has to excess), and they’re expected to be satisfied with their Alpha’s pleasure.

But Hannibal jacks him slowly, tongue still chasing the traces of his own orgasm on Will’s face.

“Stop,” says Will, trying to jerk away, but Hannibal snarls, clutching his collar, and Will relents, letting him do what he wants. When Hannibal presses, he parts his lips to accept the tongue that plunges into his mouth. The wet sound of their kissing makes him sick.

“Please,” he asks quietly, breaking free by turning his face away. “Can you at least take the tape off?”

Hannibal takes him by the hair again. Will whines at the pressure and Hannibal relaxes his grip, rumbling reassurance. “Will you behave for me?” he inquires, stroking a finger over Will’s semen-coated lips.

Will nods reluctantly.

Gently Hannibal peels back the tape over Will’s eyes, careful not to tug out the hairs of his eyelashes and eyebrows. “There,” he soothes. “You’ve been good, so you deserve a reward.”

Will blinks up at him. Hannibal is naked from the waist down, his cock already jutting proudly from under his button-down shirt. It’s shiny, still wet from Will’s mouth and its own juices.

“Thank you,” he forces himself to say, remembering how Hannibal feels about manners.

Hannibal reaches for a dirty rag on the workbench and uses it to wipe Will’s eyes, then his sticky chin and neck.

“Would you like some water?” he asks, sounding almost like his old self. Having come once, he’s more relaxed.

Will knows it won’t last.

He nods anyway, trying not to appear too eager. Hannibal touches his shoulder, a non-verbal warning to stay where he is, then crosses to the sink in the corner of the room. Will studies the floor, listening to him rummage around in the cupboard, then the sound of water running.

Hannibal comes back with a tin mug, which he holds to Will’s lips, allowing him to take several swallows. It feels cool on his bruised throat.

“Thank you,” he whispers again when he’s finished.

Hannibal grunts his acknowledgment, checking Will's bound wrists. Then he’s pulled to his feet, the cup discarded. Hannibal drags him forward with a fist tangled in the front of his shirt.

“Tell me about the people you’ve killed,” says Will, playing for time as he’s urged to the wooden table.

Hannibal plants a casual hand between his shoulder blades, a warning to cooperate. He doesn't take the bait.

“Bend.”

Will finds himself pushed over the table, the rim of it pressing into his stomach, stealing his breath.

“Talk to me, Hannibal,” he says desperately, as he’s forced down.

"Don’t struggle," Hannibal warns. He tugs at the open waist of Will’s jeans, rolling them down his legs, humming with satisfaction at each additional inch of skin he exposes.

Will hisses as his boxers are stripped away next, baring his backside to Hannibal.

“That’s it,” says Hannibal, his voice deep and rough.

“At least tell me about Beverly,” Will begs.

Hannibal growls and reaches for the dirty rag, lying innocently on the table. Will tries to duck but Hannibal takes him by the chin, forcing the roll of cloth into his mouth; Will has to open for it or have it crammed in. “Don’t fight it. That’s it, there we go.”

Will groans as Hannibal ties it tightly behind his head, ignoring his grunted denials. It strains the tender corners of his lips.

“That’s better,” Hannibal says, adjusting the knot until Will’s mouth is forced open around the fabric, muffling his cries, then guiding him back down over the table.

Will gurgles.

"Quiet, dear heart." A knee slides between Will's legs, pushing them open. "Will you keep yourself spread for me, or do I bind your ankles to the table legs?"

Will humbly slides his legs wider.

For a long time Hannibal is preoccupied with the shape of his ass, stroking over the rise of it, squeezing the cheeks. Finally he takes one fleshy mound in each hand and pulls them apart, making a soft sound of pleasure at the sight revealed to him.

“So dry,” he says mournfully, stroking a finger over the tight hole. Will wonders if he'll be forced to take it this way. He’s back on his suppressants so he won’t get slick or loose, no matter what Hannibal does. If Hannibal knots him dry, he’ll tear open.

Instead he feels what can only be Hannibal’s cheekbones nudging between his buttocks, then lips and a tongue pressing against his sensitive hole.

Will squawks and tries to rear up, objecting inarticulately.

Hannibal slams him back down by the shoulders, pinning his hips in place."Stop fighting, William. You have no reason to believe it, but I actually don’t want to hurt you. Don’t make me.” Strong hands press his thighs apart, and when he's got Will arranged the way he wants him, Hannibal dives back in.

Will groans at the pressure of tongue – and teeth! – against his sensitive rim, licking and swallowing. He's being ... _consumed_.

“Settle.” The words vibrate through Will’s spine. “You’ll want to be nice and wet for this.”

A tongue breaches his hole. It feels a little like being fucked by a worm, wet and slippery. Will groans, panting into his gag.

Hannibal takes the opportunity to push a finger up beside his tongue, forcing it into Will's resisting hole. He feels Hannibal sit back, spit, and then try again. This time the passage is eased by saliva. He can feel his ass clutching down on the finger, which feels shockingly invasive. He’s being pried open, Hannibal’s long, wet digit working in the secret part of him.

“You didn’t really think you could hide from me,” Hannibal muses, watching him writhe on a second finger. “You knew I would find you. I could track you down your scent alone, like an animal.”

Will can't answer, even if he wanted to. The third finger is almost more than he can take; he's already whining through the muffling cloth. He knows he'll never fit the knot.

“Hush,” says Hannibal, lining up. The wet head of his cock prods at Will's hole, nosing its way inside.

God, the thick, rich slide of it inside him – the way it fills him up almost to bursting, rubbing over his sensitive insides like sandpaper. The way he is spread and pinned and made to take it.

It's better this way, thinks Will. Everybody can see this wasn't his idea.

"Now you're all mine, my dear. At last.”

Hannibal starts off with a slow, steady rhythm that only feels a little like being stabbed. Strangely it's almost reassuring, being clear-headed this time. Will breathes wetly through his gag, not struggling; he's all out of struggle. He lets Hannibal claim the place he's carved out for himself. It's already his anyway.

Hannibal is nuzzling into his neck; his instincts tell him to cover his mate, to protect him from other Alphas. "My good bitch," he whispers.

The endearment sends a race of shame and pleasure through Will.

Hands drift up under Will’s shirt, up over his tight, flat nipples. Omegas are sensitive there, and Will tries to shift away, but Hannibal distracts him with a rough thrust that has him crying out. He's pulled back to take it again, harder.

He hadn’t thought the penetration could get any deeper, but it has, the head of his cock sliding in a few more inches. Will hisses and groans as it stretches him wider, Hannibal’s cock sliding further into his ass, his guts. Hannibal’s thighs are pressed against his wide-spread buttocks, balls rubbing up against his taint. It’s too much, as Hannibal begins to bounce him on his cock, each thrust going deeper than Will thought possible.

It goes on and on.

"Relax for me," Hannibal says, voice strained and unfamiliar. "William, relax."

But Will can't. He can feel the familiar tugging on each stroke, the swelling of Hannibal's knot. He can’t take it. Hannibal is going to _rip him open_.

He screams, muffled by his gag, fighting the restraints.

"Shh," says Hannibal. "It will fit as long as you are calm."

Will's breath is coming out in a wheeze, heartbeat too loud in his ears. He knows he is panicking, but he can't stop himself. He turns his face up to Hannibal, pleading with his eyes. He's scared, and it's still instinctive to look to his Alpha for protection. He thinks a whimper escapes the cloth in his mouth.

Hannibal wraps his arm around Will’s neck and squeezes. Will struggles, at war with his omega nature, which is screaming at him to submit.

“William. Will. Let go.” Hannibal whispers in his ear, tightening his grip. He's still rocking into him at the other end. “Let go, William.”

Will fights until he runs out of breath.

" _Nusiraminkite_ , _mielasis._ Relax."

Everything goes dark.

-

Will wakes slowly, blinking the sleep from his eyes. 

He's on his side. The bed he's lying on is rocking gently. His ass is burning.

"I know you're awake, William."

Hannibal has Will's top leg lifted and is grinding into him from behind, his knot buried in Will’s sore, sticky hole.

Will shifts, feeling the liquid slosh inside him behind the knot. Hannibal has filled him up, possibly more than once. Male omegas aren't fertile, but Hannibal's primitive instincts don't care; they will keep trying to fill him until he can't take any more.

Will closes his eyes again and drifts. It doesn't hurt too much, beyond the tug at his rim every time Hannibal moves.

"Do you know that not every Bonded pair can knot? Certainly not outside of the omega's heat." Hannibal pauses to come again, another warm gush of fluid.

Will grunts.

"If you believe this is all my doing, you're deceiving yourself." Hannibal is still hard, churning the slop inside of him.

A hand strokes his gagged cheek. Will doesn't open his eyes.

"You wouldn't have caught my knot unless you accepted me as your Alpha - body and soul."

Will objects, unintelligibly. 

"Oh, William. At least be honest with yourself."

The gag is tugged loose, and cool water is dribbled into his mouth.

Will licks his lips. "You killed all those people," he says.

"Of course I did," says Hannibal tenderly. "And many more that you don't know about."

He sits up, stretching the tie between them. Leaning over, he cups Will's jaw, coaxes his mouth open and slips his tongue inside. He's fucking Will in two places at once, making him take his tongue as well as his dick. His thumb rubs soothingly at Will’s cheek, his lips moving gently over Will’s bruised ones.

"Beverly Katz," says Will, when they part to breathe.

Hannibal is rocking into him gently. "It was necessary."

"Cassie Boyle. Franklyn Froideveaux. Abigail Hobbs."

"I admit, some were more enjoyable than others."

Hannibal rolls them over, himself on top, pressing Will possessively into the mattress. Will turns his face so he's not muffled in the pillow case.

"And you'll kill again, if you get the chance."

A few short thrusts, and Hannibal twitches inside him again. "I'll turn the undeserving into art, where they can serve some purpose. It's hardly even a crime." 

Exhausted, Will basks in the afterglow, knowing his trap has closed.

"I'm going to take you somewhere safe, William," says Hannibal. "Argentina is nice this time of year."

But the surveillance equipment planted in the cabin is transmitting a live feed directly to Jack’s email. The police are already on their way.

Will presses back into the warmth of his Alpha, and closes his eyes.

 

_**FIN** _

 


End file.
